


No Price Too High

by Khiori63



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Artwork "In Your Arms" by Khiori, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 06:27:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4424939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khiori63/pseuds/Khiori63
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Spock mysteriously disappears for a few hours, with no memory of what happened, Kirk is determined to find out exactly what befell his bondmate.  But he soon discovers that his quest for answers leads to some unpleasant truths.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Price Too High

 Kirk suppressed a sigh and resisted the urge to fidget. While it was true the life of a starship captain was often filled with adventure and excitement, not to mention danger, it did have its share of mundane moments, as well.

Such as now.

They had just finished an exhausting, six month patrol of the Neutral Zone, during which the Enterprise was involved in several skirmishes with various Klingon ships. Now they were on the second of a five day layover at Starbase 6 for repairs and replacement of some much-needed supplies. As soon as they achieved orbit, Kirk immediately authorized shore leave for the majority of the crew, who lost no time beaming down to take advantage of the base's exceptional facilities. Only Scott and a skeleton crew from Engineering were left behind to assist base personnel in getting the ship back in perfect working order again. Even Spock had opted to forego his usual habit of remaining on board when he learned the local museum was featuring an exhibit by a renowned artist from the cloud city of Stratos. That's where he was at this very moment, leaving Kirk to deal with the necessary but boring task of going over requisition requests with the Fleet quartermaster. The assignment was made a little more tolerable by the fact said quartermaster was an old friend from his academy days-a little, but not much.

What was much more pleasant were his memories of the previous night. During those last six months, with the ship constantly on yellow or red alert, he and Spock had been practically living on the bridge, often pulling double, sometimes triple shifts, leaving them with very little time to do much else other than snatch a few hours sleep.  Even a quick game of chess was out of the question, never mind indulging in their favorite off-duty activity, an activity that also took place in bed, but had nothing to do with sleep.  It was little wonder that after such a prolonged period of enforced abstinence, they were more than ready to resume their relationship. So after seeing the rest of the crew off, Kirk had arranged housing for the two of them in one of the more luxurious apartments on the base. They'd barely settled in before engaging in a marathon lovemaking session that ended only after both collapsed from exhaustion. Spock had surprised Kirk with his unusually aggressive attitude, taking control and manipulating Kirk as if he were nothing more than a rag doll. It was an unexpected but welcome change, proving that their year-long relationship was far from growing stale. In a few months that relationship was due to undergo another much-anticipated and even more welcome change when they formally bonded on Vulcan. But in the meantime...

 

A sudden clearing of a throat brought Kirk out of his reverie. He came back to the present to see his long-time friend staring at him quizzically.

"You okay, Jim? You looked like you were a million miles away."

Kirk grinned. "Not quite a million, Frank. What's up?"

The quartermaster waved a hand at his terminal. "Something caught my eye here. It looks like you want to add about 200 new food items to your processors."

"That's right. Is there a problem?"

"Well, I just couldn't help noticing they're all Vulcan dishes. Everything from five course meals to desserts. Either you're planning to add a lot more Vulcans to your ship's roster or the majority of your crew has developed a taste for that particular cuisine."

Kirk shook his head. "Wrong on both accounts. My first officer's weight was down his past couple of physicals and my chief surgeon felt if he had a wider selection of native foods to choose from, it might help to whet his appetite."

"Still, 200 items?"

Kirk shrugged. "You know what they say, Frank. Variety is the spice of life."

"True, but that's a lot of variety. I'm not sure I can get approval for all this."

"Not even for an old friend?"

"Personally, Jim, I'd love to, but it's not up to me. I'll go ahead and submit your request to the GAO, but I can't guarantee they'll authorize it."

"Well, just tell them if they don't, they're taking the chance one of Starfleet's finest may end up wasting away."

Now it was Frank's turn to grin. "I'm not sure that will work either, but I'll see what I can do."

"Thanks. Anything else?"

"No, that's it."

Kirk rose and shook hands with his old friend. "It was good seeing you again, Frank. Take care."

"You too, Jim."

Kirk left the office with no real plans as to what to do next.  A glance at his wrist chronometer told him that Spock was probably still at the museum, so he could either head that way or...

His communicator chirped and he quickly flipped it open. "Kirk here."

"Scott, Captain. Mr. Spock is hailin' us. He's askin' tae speak with ye."

Kirk frowned. "Spock's calling the ship?  That doesn't make any sense.  We both have our communicators, so why didn't he just contact me directly?"

"He dinnae say, sir. But I can tell you his signal is nae coming from there."

"It's not?"

"Nae, sir. It's from a public source, probably an access terminal."

The frown deepened. "Put him through."

"Aye, Captain." There was a pause, then, "Go ahead."

"Spock?"

For a long moment there was no response, so long in fact Kirk was convinced he'd lost the connection. He was just about to call the ship again when he heard, "Jim?"

It was the tone of that voice, more than anything else, that set off an immediate red alert. It was almost as if Spock was... relieved to make contact, as though it had been days rather than hours since they'd parted.  More than that, he sounded shaken, almost... frightened?

And Vulcans, especially this particular Vulcan, didn't scare easily.

Kirk took a deep breath, trying to quell the growing feeling of alarm. If something had upset Spock that much, the last thing he needed was a panicky captain. Not that panicking was in Kirk's nature, then again, the same could be said for his first officer.  And yet...

"Yes, Spock. What is it?" His voice was calm, steady, hopefully providing a measure of balance for one apparently unsettled Vulcan.

"I am... in need of transport." Once again, that hesitation. Something really must be wrong if Spock had to work that hard to maintain control.

"Sure. Where are you?"

"Base hospital. Room 17C."

Kirk had to ask, heart crowding the words in his throat. "You okay?"

"I am... functional."

The answer, which really wasn't an answer, was not very reassuring.  It wouldn't be the first time Spock used such tactics to divert attention away from himself. Especially when he needed that attention the most.

No, not reassuring at all.

"I'll be right there. Kirk out." He closed the channel, then immediately opened another. "Kirk to Enterprise."

"Scott here."

"Scotty, get the coordinates to the base hospital and beam me over. Then contact McCoy and beam him over, as well. Tell him something's wrong with Spock, but I'm not sure what."

"Aye, sir. " There was a pause, then, "Locked ontae your signal, Captain. Ready tae transport."

"Go ahead, Scotty."

He materialized in the back of the hospital where the air ambulances unloaded, directly in front of the emergency room entrance. Although Kirk had no idea where Room 17C was, he had a hunch it was somewhere nearby. Vulcans, especially his Vulcan, didn't walk into a hospital for minor injuries or ailments. As a matter-of-fact, his Vulcan wouldn't go near a hospital as long as he _could_ walk. Maybe not even then. So the odds were not only was he carried in, he was probably unconscious, as well.  Not a comforting thought. 

Kirk buzzed for admittance and once inside, headed right for the nurse's station a few meters away. One of them noticed his approach and spoke to a doctor standing nearby. The rather portly, gray-haired man stepped forward to meet him.

"Captain Kirk? I'm Dr. Farrell."

Good.  Since they knew who he was, they also knew why he was here.  "Where's my first officer?"

"Room 17C. Just down the hall."

"Thank you." Kirk started to move past him when Farrell put out a hand, halting his progress.

"Captain, before you see him, it might be best if I told you what happened first."

Kirk hesitated, torn between going to Spock and heeding the doctor's advice. As much as he needed to know how the Vulcan ended up in this place, there was an even greater need to go to him, to touch and to comfort, to reassure both that Spock was all right.

"He doesn't remember."

Those three words stopped him cold. He turned back to the doctor, face set. "Tell me." There was no mistaking the authority in his voice.

"About three hours ago, one of the maintenance workers went out back to dispose of some waste in the incinerators. That's where he found Commander Spock. He was unconscious and there was evidence he'd been beaten. From what we've been able to gather, someone just left him there. Exactly when we don't know, as no one saw or heard anything."

Kirk's nails dug into his palms. So he'd been right all along. Spock hadn't arrived under his own power. Someone had made sure of that. And that someone was going to pay the price. "Why wasn't I contacted sooner? Didn't he have his communicator?"

Farrell shook his head. "No. The area was searched, but nothing was found. And as the commander had no identification of any kind and was dressed in civilian clothes, there was no way to determine who he was. Vulcans aren't all that uncommon here on the base, so the only thing we could do at the time was notify the proper authorities. Before they could make a positive I.D., Commander Spock regained consciousness and told us who he was. He then insisted on contacting you himself."

Kirk frowned in puzzlement "If he knew his name, where does the memory loss come in?"

"According to the commander, the last thing he remembers is arriving at a local museum this morning around 0800. That's all until he woke up here."

"How's he doing now?"

"A little shaken, but not seriously injured. Tests revealed traces of Xetholexital in his system. It's a powerful sedative that usually renders an individual unconscious within seconds. Once the drug begins to wear off, there are often side effects.  Those include memory loss, dizziness, difficulty with motor coordination, disorientation, nausea, and vomiting. Commander Spock is exhibiting all of these symptoms, some to a lesser degree than others, but they tend to be of relatively short duration. He also has several bruises, including a rather large one on his left side and a deep gash on his forehead, apparently from falling and striking his head on the ground. We've sealed the wound, given him antiinflammatories to reduce the pain and swelling, and an antiemetic to help control the nausea and vomiting. I'd like to keep him here another day for observation, but he's insisting he be released immediately. It's against my better judgment to do so, but..."

Kirk held up a hand. "Don't worry about that. Dr. McCoy, my chief medical officer, is on his way. If he feels the same as you, then Commander Spock won't be going anywhere except straight to the Enterprise's sickbay. I'll see to it myself."

Farrell looked relieved. "I'm glad to hear that Captain, as I really have no authority to countermand his wishes. Not that I blame him for wanting to leave. It's got to be pretty unnerving, even for a Vulcan, to wake up in a hospital with no memory of how you got there and with nothing but the clothes on your back. Clothes which, by the way, looked like they were taken off and put back on, and not very well at that."

Kirk's heart caught in his throat. "Was he...?

Farrell quickly shook his head. "No, that was part of the exam."

Kirk's shoulders sagged in relief. He didn't even want to think of what he'd do if Spock had been... he left the thought unfinished. "Can I see him now?"

"Certainly. And when Dr. McCoy arrives, I'll be sure to let him know where you are."

"Thank you." Kirk turned and strode rapidly down the hall. A moment later he found himself standing in front of Room 17C. He raised his hand to knock, then paused and simply waved his hand over the sensor. The door slid open and he stepped into the room. Directly in front of him lay his first officer and soon-to-be bondmate, huddled beneath several thick blankets. He lay on his side facing Kirk, eyes closed, face noticeably pale. His hair was somewhat disheveled, revealing the deep gash on his forehead that stood out in sharp contrast to the pallid skin.  There was a deep frown line between the eyebrows, along with what appeared to be a rapidly blackening left eye. The heavy covers did nothing to hide the tremors that routinely shook the thin form, whether a reaction to the drug still in his system or to recent events, Kirk couldn't say.

Touching seemed too intrusive at the moment, so he settled for a soft, "Hey."

The Vulcan stirred and dark eyes opened to peer up at him. "Jim?"

"Yes, Spock. How do you feel?"

Spock made no reply, although his eyes closed again as a look of unmistakable relief crossed his features. Then it was gone and he pushed the blankets aside and began to rise. Immediately, Kirk clamped his hands over the Vulcan's shoulders.  "None of that, mister. You're not going anywhere until McCoy's had a chance to look at you."

An eyebrow rose. "That is not necessary. Dr. Farrell has..."

"Never mind Dr. Farrell.  He's never treated you before.  McCoy has.  So you just lie there and relax until he gets here."

Spock gave him a look of reproach, but eventually settled back down into bed.  Kirk reached for the covers and began to draw them up again, peripherally noting the Vulcan was wearing the standard hospital gown that seemed universal to patients throughout the galaxy.

Before he could finish his task, the door slid open and McCoy hurried in. With barely a nod to Kirk, he pulled out his scanner and ran it over Spock, who raised a disdainful eyebrow at him, but otherwise remained silent.

"Bones, he was..."

"I know. I spoke with Dr. Farrell." McCoy completed his scan and studied the readings. He grunted in satisfaction.

"Bones?"

McCoy turned to Kirk. "Mild concussion, some internal bruising, a few minor scrapes and cuts, and a hairline fracture of the right wrist." He looked at Spock. "You can thank that hard head of yours, among other things, that it wasn't a lot worse. Just take it easy for the next couple of days and you should be just fine." He turned back to Kirk. "He can go home with you, but make sure he stays in bed the rest of today and tonight. I'll give you some analgesics but knowing him, I doubt he'll ask for any no matter how bad he's feeling. So use your own judgment on that. If he isn't any better by morning, get him back to the ship and call me."

"You can count on it."

"Good." McCoy glanced at Spock. "All right, you're free to go. But remember what I said. Otherwise, you'll find yourself in Sickbay so fast your head's gonna spin even more than it probably is right now. Understood?"

Spock's lips pursed in annoyance, but he had no option other than to agree. He nodded.

McCoy snorted. "Nice to see you've decided to cooperate for once. Jim, I'll stop by tomorrow morning to check on him."

"Sure, Bones. See you then."

As the doctor left, Spock once again pushed himself up on the bed, studiously avoiding Kirk's gaze. "I wish to depart now." His voice was clipped, kept tightly under control. A hard swallow followed his words, no doubt an attempt to quell the nausea Farrell had mentioned. Hands rose to tug at the loose, thin gown.

Kirk picked up the Vulcan's clothes draped over a nearby chair. Conspicuously absent was the light jacket Spock had been wearing when he left that morning. As he sorted them out, he saw that except for one pocket turned inside out, the pants were relatively intact. The sight filled him with an odd sense of relief.

He was just about to hand over the shirt when he hesitated. With no apparent witnesses to the attack and with Spock unable to recall what happened, that left only his clothing to provide any clues that could lead to his assailants.  That is, if they hadn't been too compromised in the hospital.

He pulled one of the blankets off the bed and spread it on the floor. Spock raised a puzzled eyebrow, but Kirk ignored the silent query. He placed the clothes carefully in the middle and pulled the corners of the blanket tightly together, making a neat bundle. He pulled out his communicator. "Kirk to Enterprise."

"Scott here, Captain. Is Mr. Spock all right?"

"For the most part. He was assaulted earlier today, but doesn't remember anything about it.  We haven't been able to locate any witnesses, so I want a full analysis done on his clothing. It's lying in front of me. Beam it aboard, then send down a fresh uniform. Also, scan for his communicator. It wasn't on him when he was found."

"Aye, sir." A few moments later blanket and clothes shimmered and disappeared, to be replaced by the familiar blue and black uniform, complete with boots. Kirk scooped everything up and deposited all on the bed. He remained close, ready to lend a hand as Spock pulled off the gown and picked up the tunic.  He slipped it on slowly, gingerly, his movements lacking their usual grace.  His fingers fumbled with the magnetic seam, unable to find purchase.

With a shake of his head, Kirk stepped forward, calmly stilling those clumsy, _cold_ hands. He gave them a quick squeeze before closing the seam himself. The knuckles of one hand were bruised- _defensive wounds_ -and Kirk filed that fact away for later.

"That is not necessary. I can..."

"Quiet, Spock." Kirk tugged the tunic into place. He stepped back and studied the Vulcan's pallid features. "You're going to have one hell of a black eye by tomorrow." The bewildered look gave him the warning he needed to gently stay the hand reaching up to probe the area in question. "Trust me, you'll feel it soon enough."

Kirk picked up the pants and held them out, Spock pushed himself off the bed and clambered to his feet. Almost immediately his legs gave way and only Kirk's quick action kept him from toppling over and crashing to the floor. Still, the sudden impact of the Vulcan's body against his own sent Kirk to his knees and it took a moment to gain his balance and pull Spock to his feet. The Vulcan was trembling violently and Kirk kept a firm grip on one elbow as he eased him back onto the bed, only releasing his hold when Spock was once again lying on his side. He pulled the covers up and tucked them around the quivering form.

"You're taking things too fast. Now just lie there and relax."

It was an indication of just how badly Spock was feeling that he didn't voice the usual protests. Instead, he just closed his eyes and pulled the blankets closer. They stayed that way for several minutes, Kirk sifting his fingers through the tangled hair as the tremors that shook the thin frame gradually diminished.

With Spock somewhat calmer and more relaxed, Kirk decided it was time for some answers. With one finger, he carefully traced the sealed wound on the forehead. "What happened?"

Brown eyes opened and met his own. "I... do not recall."

"All right, then. How about the last thing you _do_ remember?"

Spock's brow furrowed in concentration. "Arriving at the museum. Walking toward the entrance..." Suddenly he grew deathly pale and squeezed his eyes shut, arms clutching his stomach. "I need..."

He began to retch and Kirk quickly grabbed the basin and towel on the small table near the bed. He pulled Spock up, cradling the Vulcan against his shoulder. He held the basin under Spock's chin with one hand and steadied the dark head with the other as the Vulcan did his best to void his stomach of any remaining contents.

The attack ended as quickly as it had begun and Spock collapsed against Kirk's chest, panting heavily. Kirk set the basin aside and picked up the towel.  He carefully cleaned the spittle and flecks of vomit from the Vulcan's mouth and chin, then settled him back down against the pillows.  He perched himself on the edge of the bed and took one limp hand between his own, gently stroking the long fingers. Spock closed his eyes and gave a weary sigh. His features were ashen and there were lines of stress and pain on his face. Kirk frowned. While this wasn't the first time he'd seen Spock in less than immaculate condition, he couldn't recall any time when the Vulcan looked so wretched and miserable.

He gave the hand a gentle squeeze. "Dr. Farrell said you'd be a bit nauseous until the sedative was out of your system. It'll pass."

A single nod, but the eyes remained closed. After a moment they opened and focused blearily on his own. "I wish to leave now." He pushed the covers back.

Kirk pulled them up again. "No, Spock. Not until I'm sure you're okay."

Anger briefly flared in the brown eyes. "I am not an invalid."

"No one said you were." Kirk worked a hand under the blankets and began kneading the muscles in the tight back, gradually working his way up to the shoulders. "You were attacked, beaten up, and drugged. And if that wasn't enough, you don't even know who did it or why. Vulcan or not, it takes time to recover from something like that. Give yourself that time."

"Jim." This time there was a trace of fear in those eyes. "Dr. Farrell informed me there was no evidence... yet my clothing... how can I be certain that...?"

"Stop it." Kirk's voice was sharp. "Someone took you and worked you over a little, but that's all." He ran a finger across the bruised knuckles. "See, you even fought back. Although why you tried a punch rather than a nerve pinch..."

"Contamination, no doubt."

Kirk grinned. "No doubt." He grew serious again. "We may not have all the answers yet, but we're not the best team in Starfleet for nothing. We'll find out who did this, Spock. I promise."

The Vulcan made no reply. Instead, he closed his eyes as his fingers curled around Kirk's hand and tightened until the grip was almost painful. Kirk remained still. If Spock needed something to hold on to in order to regain his equilibrium, then Kirk was more than willing to provide that something.

He resumed the gentle massage as Spock slowly relaxed, his hold gradually loosening. After a few minutes, Kirk gave him a slight poke. "Hey."

Dark eyes slowly opened.

"You ready to leave?"

"Indeed." This time Spock didn't resist Kirk's help in sitting up or getting dressed, although he did gain his feet on his own. One deep breath, then he nodded, apparently ready to go.  Kirk gave him a quick pat on the shoulder, then grabbed the bottle of pills McCoy had left. He tucked them into his pocket before leading the way out of the room.  The Vulcan's gait was a little unsteady, but he shook his head at Kirk's proffered arm. Still, Kirk remained close as they made their way out of the hospital and into one of the waiting air taxis. Only after Spock was securely strapped in did Kirk finally relax. The immediate crisis was over. Now he could focus on finding out who was responsible.

Then they'd see who ended up in the hospital.

By the time they arrived back at the complex, Spock was nearly unconscious and Kirk had to practically carry him up to the apartment and into the bedroom.  He sat the Vulcan on the edge of the bed and quickly stripped off his uniform, leaving it in a pile on the floor.  He then slipped a heavy robe over the unresisting form and moments later Spock was tucked securely under the covers. Kirk crouched down next to him and rubbed small, slow circles over his back.  He began murmuring soft reassurances, using voice and touch to lull the Vulcan to sleep. Within minutes Spock's breathing evened out and his body grew limp.  Kirk stopped the massage and waited a few more minutes before gently tapping one shoulder.  "Spock?" No response. Satisfied, Kirk rose and with one last glance at the still form, left the room.

He pulled out his communicator. "Kirk to Enterprise."

"Scott here, Captain."

"Any results on the clothes?"

"Nae, sir. Just a few fibers, but they could hae come from anywhere."

Kirk had to ask. "Any traces of semen?"

"None, Captain."

Kirk let out the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "What about his communicator?"

"Nary a sign. It was either destroyed or taken."

"And if it was taken, whoever has it isn't on the planet anymore."

"I doubt it, Captain. Nae unless they're shielded from our sensors. But it's more likely they're gone."

"I have to agree.  But keep looking, anyway.  I'll contact you later. Kirk out."

"Aye, sir. Scott out."

Kirk took a deep breath, fighting back a rising tide of anger and frustration. No evidence, no witnesses, no answers. At the moment he wanted nothing more than to take action, to get out there and do _something_ to find out who did this and why. But that would mean leaving his companion alone and defenseless, and as much as Kirk needed, _they_ needed those answers, they would have to wait. Right now, Spock needed him more. Still, it wasn't easy. The being he had chosen to spend the rest of his life with was lying in bed nearby, sick and hurting in more ways than one. All because someone chose to target him for some as-yet unknown reason.  Whether that someone was the same person who'd left Spock at the hospital was still another unanswered question, but Kirk's intuition told him if he found that person, he would also find his answers. 

At the moment, however, there was nothing more he could do. Except hope that once Spock recovered from his ordeal, his memory would improve and he could provide some clues that might help solve the mystery and bring his assailants to justice.

As if on cue, a soft moan came from the bedroom and Kirk rose to investigate. Moonlight filtered through the shuttered window and he could just make out his future bondmate sitting up, one hand pressed to his forehead. Kirk dialed up the lights to a dim glow and eased himself onto the edge of the mattress. He pulled the hand away, noting the lines of stress and pain etched on the pale face. Spock's eyes focused groggily on his for a moment, then with another moan, he collapsed against the pillows and curled into a fetal position, arms clutching his stomach.

Kirk headed for the bathroom, returning a moment later with a glass of tepid water. He pulled the bottle of pills from his pocket and shook out two. They were taken without comment, although Spock waved the glass away. Kirk stripped down to his briefs, then slid under the covers and gathered the Vulcan close. He kissed the tall forehead, noting the skin was somewhat warmer than normal. They lay there for several minutes as Spock's breathing grew deep and steady.  Just as Kirk thought him asleep, the Vulcan mumbled something against his chest. "What did you say?"

Spock raised his head. He actually looked a little better. "I was inquiring if you'd discovered anything further."

"No. The tests on your clothes were negative and there's no sign of your communicator. Which means at this point, if we're going to solve this, it's up to you." He hesitated. "Are you sure you don't remember anything that happened?"

Spock's brow furrowed. "I believe... I heard someone call out to me. But I cannot be certain."

That was new. "Male or female?"

There was a long pause, then, "Male."

"Did you happen to see who it was?"

Another pause. "Negative."

"Did you recognize the voice?"

A quick shake of the head.

"Okay. Was there anything unusual about it? Did it have an accent? Anything to indicate it might be alien?"

"No, it was human."

"Do you know what he said?"

Spock frowned, his gaze focused on a corner of the room. It was obvious he was struggling to remember, to recall even a small fragment of those missing hours.  After a moment, he shook his head. "It is difficult... I cannot..."

Kirk patted one cheek. "Don't worry. It'll come back to you."

"And if it does not?"

That very thought had been running through Kirk's mind ever since he'd learned what happened.  He knew, they both knew, the more time that passed without any answers, the less chance they'd have of ever finding those answers. So while he could offer some trite reassurance, tell Spock everything would be okay, it would be meaningless to both. Total honesty had always been the cornerstone of their relationship, even before they were lovers.  So there was only one answer he could give. "Then unless someone comes forward, the odds are we'll never really know what happened."

Silence descended over the room as both pondered that unpleasant but very real possibility. Then Spock stirred and one hand rose to touch Kirk's face.

"You have had a trying day. You must rest."

Kirk snorted. " _I_ had a hard day? What was it you once accused McCoy of? Having an unerring capacity for understatement? I think you've been taking lessons."

An eyebrow rose. "I assure you, I have not. But you must agree, if you are to assist in my recovery, it is only logical you remain fit to do so."

While sleep was the last thing on Kirk's mind, he had to admit Spock did have a point. "All right. But only if you promise not to take advantage of me."

This time both eyebrows disappeared into the hairline. Kirk grinned. "Goodnight, Spock."

"Goodnight, Jim."

 

* * * * *

 

The next day Spock was what Kirk could only describe as "moody", if such a thing were possible. The Vulcan's usual control was uncharacteristically absent as he ran the emotional gauntlet from irritation to displeasure, impatience to resentment, with bouts of contrition and self-reproach in between.  Even McCoy's pronouncement after a brief exam that he was much improved seemed to make no difference. Nor did the chocolate muffin Kirk served up for his breakfast. Normally this special treat would disappear with amazing speed, but this time the Vulcan barely nibbled at it before excusing himself from the table.

For his part, Kirk met each and every one of those mood swings with patience and understanding. People responded to being victimized in different ways and if this was how his future bondmate was choosing to cope, then so be it. Kirk knew deep down, Spock was more than a little unnerved not only by the attack, but by his loss of memory as well. Given all that, Kirk had no problem putting up with an irritable Vulcan for awhile. After all, he himself wasn't the easiest person to deal with whenever he was angry or upset. And he didn't spend _his_ life suppressing those emotions. Far from it.

Still, it wasn't easy. Between concern and understanding for what Spock was going through, along with the furor that rose at the thought of what the Vulcan's as-yet unknown assailant had done to him, Kirk himself was walking a thin emotional line. Yet he could ill-afford to lose control. Not if they were going to get through this.

Later that evening, with the sun almost below the horizon and after another fruitless attempt to get Spock to eat, Kirk gently but firmly put him to bed. To his surprise, there was little protest, a sure sign of the emotional toll the day had taken on his companion.

The next several hours were spent pacing the length of the apartment as Kirk pondered what little he knew about this morning's events "little" being the operative word. Not only were there no witnesses to the initial attack, apparently no one saw how Spock ended up on hospital grounds either. It was anyone's guess as to how long he lay there unconscious before the maintenance worker found him crumpled in a heap about 3 meters from the incinerator. Nor had said worker been able to tell the authorities anything Kirk hadn't already figured out for himself-the disheveled and bruised state of the Vulcan clearly indicating he'd been taken by force, the position in which he was found suggesting he'd just been dumped there... Even a thorough investigation of the area revealed no clues, nothing to show who did this or why. It was almost as if Spock had simply fallen out of the sky. So until and unless someone came forward or Spock's memory improved, there was simply nothing more to do...

The beeping of his communicator was a welcome interruption to his increasingly depressing thoughts. He flipped it open. "Kirk here."

"Scott, Captain. Someone is calling the ship. He wants to speak to you."

Kirk frowned. "Who is it?"

"He would nae say. But he did mention it has something to do with what happened to Mr. Spock."

"Put him through."

"Aye, sir." Then, "Go ahead."

"Kirk here."

"Jimmy?"

Kirk frowned. "This is Captain James Kirk. Please identify yourself."

"Aw, Jimmy, you don't know who this is? That hurts."

Kirk's eyes narrowed. "Gil? Is that you?"

"The one and the same. How are you, Jimmy?"

Gil Tanecky was another old acquaintance from the Academy, a casual friend before dropping out his second year. Scuttlebutt was he'd been asked to leave after it was discovered he was involved in some illicit activity. Exactly what that activity was remained a mystery to Kirk and his fellow students. There was some speculation it had to do with gambling, or perhaps drugs, but whatever the case, it put an end to any future Gil hoped to have in Starfleet. Over the ensuing years, Kirk heard vague rumors his old classmate made his living working both sides of the law, including acting as an occasional informant for the Federation.  It seemed he was able to provide the authorities with just enough useful information to keep him on their good side, despite his supposed criminal endeavors. But his dealings with the Fleet were always on his terms and his involvement in more illegal activities never quite substantiated. Truth be told, Kirk preferred it that way. He'd always had a bit of a soft spot for Gil, whose constant wisecracks and devil-may-care attitude made life at the Academy much more pleasant for one very studious cadet. Even if it was only for a short time.

Now there was the strong possibility that could change. If Gil had anything to do with what happened to Spock...

Kirk shook his head. It was hard to believe Gil would be involved in something like that. He never struck Kirk as a violent man and his criminal interests seemed to lean more toward intelligence and organization rather than kidnapping and assault. But if Gil had stepped over that line...

"Hey, Jimmy, you still there?"

"Yes, and to answer your question, I'm doing just fine.  But I don't think you called just to catch up. What do you know about the attack on my first officer?"

There was a chuckle. "That's my Jimmy, always one to get right down to business."

"I'm not your 'Jimmy'. Now answer the question."

"Ah, ah. You might be a big starship captain nowadays, but around here, we do things my way. Meet me tonight behind that museum your Vulcan was at yesterday. And come alone."

"What time?"

"In about a half an hour"

"I'll be there."

"Good. Because if you aren't, you'll be sorry. This is a once-in-a-lifetime offer." Another chuckle.

Kirk wasn't amused. "Until then, Gil. Kirk out."

He cut the connection and returned to the bedroom, his first instinct to check on Spock. All was quiet, the Vulcan peacefully asleep. The sight made him pause.  He had every intention of meeting up with Gil, but neither was he going to leave Spock on his own.  Nor was he considering bringing him along.  Some type of arrangement would have to be made.  Perhaps McCoy...

He left the bedroom and crossed over to the comm unit.  Before he could open a channel, a soft rustle behind caught his ear. He turned to see Spock emerge from the bedroom, shrugging into his jacket.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"With you."

So much for sleeping Vulcans. Then again, he never could get anything past Spock. "You're supposed to take it easy, remember? I can handle this on my own."

"I do not believe a slight excursion will have any adverse effects on my recovery. Also, it is not wise for you to be alone with an individual you have not had contact with for years and know little about."

"That isn't for you to decide. Besides, if there is going to be trouble, you're in no shape to handle it."

"Jim..."

"I said no, Spock."

"Please, Jim." Something in his tone made Kirk pause and take a closer look. There was mute appeal in those dark eyes that could not be ignored.  Kirk hesitated.  If he'd been the one who was attacked, wouldn't he insist on confronting the person who might be responsible? Especially when said person might be the only one who could provide the answers he needed, _they_ needed? Captain or no, did he really have the right to deny Spock that which he would want for himself?

"All right, you can come." Spock's shoulders sagged with apparent relief.  "But only on two conditions.  One, if things get to be too much out there I want you to tell me and two, once this is all over I don't want anything less than full cooperation from you until you're recovered.  Agreed?"

"Agreed."

Kirk grabbed his own jacket and joined Spock at the door. As they left, he slipped a hand into one pocket, checking for his phaser. The feel of the weapon against his flesh gave him a sense of security. If there was going to be trouble tonight, he was ready.

Twenty minutes later they were standing just inside a dark alley behind the museum, the stars above barely illuminating their surroundings. Why Gil insisted on meeting here Kirk couldn't say, although the atmosphere certainly lent itself to what one would expect when engaging in clandestine activities. There was no sign of his former classmate and Kirk found himself willing the man to show.  As anxious as he was to find out if Gil indeed had the answers Kirk needed, he still wanted nothing more than to get this over with as soon as possible.  It had been less than 48 hours since Spock was attacked and Kirk's sidelong glances at his first officer and lover filled him with an overwhelming desire to get the Vulcan home as soon as possible. The bruises around Spock's left eye were now in their full glory, distorting his otherwise pale features just visible in the dim light. He stood slightly hunched over near the wall, as if he'd need its support any minute. His weakened condition would have been obvious even to the most casual observer and only the determination burning in those dark eyes, a determination that matched his own, kept Kirk standing in that alley. He turned his back and waited.

A nearby shadow shifted, slowly taking on a humanoid shape.  Apparently Gil didn't believe in making a typical entrance. Kirk's already heightened senses sharpened, his attention divided between Spock as the Vulcan straightened behind him and the small, seemingly unobtrusive man now standing a few feet away.

"Hello, Jimmy. Good to see you again. And Commander Spock. You're certainly looking better than the last time I saw you." The voice was deceptively mild.

Kirk's face hardened. "It was you, then." Somehow, he really wasn't all that surprised.

"Isn't that why we're here?" The tone was much too pleasant.

Kirk clenched his fists. "Why, Gil?" He couldn't quite see the man's eyes, but he knew they were watching him intently.

"Why what, Jimmy? Why did it happen in the first place or why did I intervene?"

That last question threw him off momentarily and from behind, he heard a sharp intake of breath. He couldn't afford to spare a glance in that direction. "What do you mean?"

The other man shifted, his posture seemingly more relaxed. "There are certain... elements in society that prey on others. You know that, Jimmy. For credits, for sex, for drugs, sometimes for nothing more than a jacket and a pair of shoes."

"So how does any of that relate to the attack on my first officer?"

"Why, the oldest reason in the book. Sex."

Kirk's mouth went dry. Despite all the evidence to the contrary, _had_ something happened to Spock? He had to swallow twice before he could speak. "Explain."

Before Gil could answer, there was a voice from behind. "Pleasure slaves."

Mentally, Kirk cringed, both at the defeated tone of Spock's voice and Gil's subsequent nod.

"Then you've heard. The Orions have been pretty active in this sector lately, looking for some fresh meat. Apparently, Mr. Spock, they figured you were a good candidate. I guess they don't get a lot of Vulcans."

Kirk could barely keep his rage in check. "Is that how you make your living now?  Slavery?"

A slight pause. "Not exactly."

"What does that mean?"

"Well, let's just say I was invited to join a little hunting party by some Orions I've done business with in the past.  And you know me, Jimmy, always looking for a little excitement, so I decided to join the fun. Well, it didn't take long before we ran across your first officer here. Of course I didn't know that until after the Orions jumped him. Just as they were getting ready to haul him away, I let them know exactly who it was they'd managed to capture. At first they were rather pleased with themselves until I told them that if they didn't leave him be, they'd live to regret it. After all, the brass at Starfleet weren't just going to sit back and do nothing once they found one of their most valuable officers was missing now, were they? Lucky for you the Orions took my advice, but needless to say they weren't too happy about losing such a prize.  So they spent some time taking their frustrations out on him."  Gil casually waved at Spock.  "At first I let them have their fun, but when they started to go too far, I convinced them enough was enough and to let me have him."

Both the alley and the man in front of him were starting to go out of focus as Kirk struggled against the fury that tightened his chest, bringing with it a dizzying wave of hatred and rage. He fought the urge to wrap his fingers around Gil's throat and squeeze until every ounce of breath was gone from his body. To listen to this man discuss in a casual, almost lighthearted manner how Spock was abused and almost ended up as someone's plaything... There was a shuffle behind him, then a trembling hand curled around his arm. There was no strength in that grip and Kirk could have easily pulled away. But it might as well have been made of iron.

He took a deep breath, fighting to control the intense anger that seethed within.

Gil continued, either not noticing or not caring. "After they left, I figured if I could get him to the hospital, he'd be taken care of and eventually you'd be contacted."

"So the only reason you interfered with his capture was because you knew if you didn't, I'd hunt you and your cohorts down, is that it?" Kirk stepped forward, dragging Spock along with him. He barely resisted the urge to spit in the man's face. "So tell me, Gil, why did you even bother to call me? Did you think I'd figured out what happened and was coming after you? If so, why make it so easy? Or maybe you thought your good deed would get you a reward. Is that it?"

There was just enough light to see Gil's teeth as he smiled. The sight enraged Kirk even further. He reached for his phaser and took another step forward. Only Spock's fingers digging into his arm prevented him from pulling the weapon out and blasting his former friend into a billion particles. _Control. Control._

The smile vanished. For the first time, Gil's expression grew serious. "No, Jimmy, that's not it. I knew there was no way you'd ever find out I was involved."

"How can you be so sure?"

Gil nodded his head at Spock. "Because he never saw me before the Orions were on him. I doubt he even knew what hit him, it all happened so fast."

"So then why did you have me come here?"

"Because I wanted you to know, I didn't save the commander for me. I saved him for you."

Kirk's eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about?"

"Just because I'm not in Starfleet doesn't mean I still don't have my sources. I know how close you two are and how important he is to you. So when I saw that you were going to lose him, I found I couldn't let that happen. I guess you could consider it a favor for an old friend."

 _Old friend._ Kirk's hand clenched the phaser as he pondered that last statement. Could it really be true? Had Gil rescued Spock just because he knew Kirk loved him? If so, could he turn this man over to the authorities for his initial involvement in the attack? Was his need for justice that important?

Behind him, Spock squeezed his arm and let go. It was a silent message that it was his decision and his alone as to what happened next.

Gil stood, silent and impassive, also apparently waiting to see what he would do.

Kirk slowly pulled his hand out of his pocket, leaving the phaser behind. He took a deep breath, his eyes meeting Gil's. "I want the others who did this."

"I figured as much. They'll be in the hands of the authorities tomorrow."

Kirk didn't even think to question him. Somehow, he knew this was a promise Gil would keep. He suddenly felt very tired. "You have to know, if you get involved in something like this again and I find out about it, I'm coming after  you. And I won't stop until I've caught you.  But for now... thanks."

A slight smile formed on the other man's lips. "You're welcome, Jimmy. Now I think you'd better go take care of your Vulcan."

Kirk turned to see Spock swaying on his feet, eyelids fluttering. He quickly moved to steady him, hooking an arm around him and pulling him close. "Didn't I say to tell me when you were overdoing it?" Spock made no reply; instead he closed his eyes and rested his head wearily on Kirk's shoulder. So much for the slight excursion having no adverse effects. Well, Kirk did have the Vulcan's promise that he would behave once this was over. And it was one promise Spock was going to keep. He'd see to that.

With the Vulcan secure in his embrace, Kirk turned back toward Gil.  But his former classmate had vanished, leaving only shadows behind. 

He turned his attention to the being in his arms and shook him gently. Dark eyes opened and met his own. Kirk pointed toward the stars. "What do you say we go home?"

A slight nod was the only response. He pulled out his communicator. "Kirk to Enterprise."

"Scott here, Captain."

"Two to beam up."

"Aye, sir."

Kirk closed his communicator and took one more look at the spot where Gil had stood just moments before. Duty or no, he found he had little regret in letting the other man go. Especially if it meant that by tomorrow the ones who were truly responsible would be in custody and Spock could get his missing hours back. As for Gil... Kirk knew he couldn't ignore the shadier side of the man's life indefinitely and if their paths did cross again, he'd have to keep the promise he'd made tonight. But for now... Kirk tightened his grip as he felt the familiar tingle of the transporter beam... for now he could forgive if it meant having the one he loved above all others safe and secure at his side.

It was, after all, a small price to pay.


End file.
